


Trust Me

by Find_a_Way



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Married Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Find_a_Way/pseuds/Find_a_Way
Summary: Still in the early months of her marriage, Shelagh learns there is more than one way to love.





	1. Chapter 1

The flat was empty and quiet as Shelagh let herself in. Timothy would be home soon, but who knew when Patrick would finally come home. Evening calls after the Mother and Baby Clinic often went long into the night, and Patrick would return exhausted. She loved him first for his commitment to others, but days like today she wished perhaps others didn’t need him quite so much.

  
As she hung her handbag on a small hook on the coatrack, she caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror. Her tailored navy suit and tightly controlled French twist teased a memory and for a tiny moment, she saw herself as she used to be. It was no habit and wimple, of course, but the hairstyle felt as much a part of her new uniform as doctor’s wife as the starched linen ever did. She was partial to blue, but she wondered sometimes if she wore it out of habit more than preference.

  
Abruptly, she unbuttoned the jacket and slipped it off her shoulders. Immediately, she felt the difference the pale yellow her blouse made. She stepped closer to the mirror and considered her reflection. A knowing smile crossed her face and she reached up to remove her hairpins. Fluffing her fingers through her hair, she grinned. “Hello, Shelagh!”  
With a giggle, she moved to the kitchen. A pot of tea, first. There was just enough time to have a bit of a breather, then set to dinner. As she stood at the sink filling the kettle, she heard the front door open.

  
“Timothy, dearest, you’re home early…” her words faded as she watched her husband stride down the hallway towards her. “Patrick! You’ll never get home tonight if you don’t get to those calls!”

  
He stopped before her and bent to kiss her cheek. “I stopped in at Dr. Greenwood’s and asked him to take the list for me tonight. He owes me weeks of calls, and I decided I deserved a night off with my family.”

  
“What brought this decision on, then?” Shelagh wondered.

  
He turned away to swing his jacket off and hung it on the back of a chair. “Can’t a man just want to be with the ones he loves?”

  
She rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to filling the kettle. “Well, whatever your reason, I’m glad you’re home.”

  
Patrick leant against the kitchen hatch and Shelagh could feel his eyes on her. _What’s he up to _,__ she wondered. She shut off the tap and lifted the kettle to the hob. His attention flustered her, and she could feel the warmth begin to rise in her cheeks.

  
“I like you in that skirt,” Patrick told her.

  
Something in his tone made Shelagh turn her head to meet his eye. His eyes danced with mischief and his smile was cheeky. Shelagh blushed. “But I much prefer you out if it,” he teased.

  
She pressed her lips together and moulded her face into a withering stare.

  
He pushed off from the door jamb and moved behind her. With his hands at her waist, he bent his mouth to her ear and whispered, “If you think your “Sister Bernadette” look will discourage me, you're mistaken, my love. Your skirt has been distracting me all day.”

  
“Patrick!” Shelagh scolded half-heartedly as her body began to relax. She felt his hand on her hair, smoothing it behind her ear and around the base of her head. His nose nuzzled into her fine hair and she tried to stifle the warmth that built within her. Even to her own ears, her voice was unconvincing. “Patrick, we can’t.”

  
He inhaled the scent of her and bent to kiss just behind her ear, his lips trailing up to her earlobe. He took the soft skin between his teeth and tugged gently. A breath rattled from her lungs.

  
“Patrick, really, we can’t. Timothy will be home in quarter of an hour.. There just isn't time.”

  
She could hear the disappointment in her own voice and wondered if he knew how close she was to surrender. _Of course, he did._

  
He pressed his hands along her sides, his palms brushing against the sides of her breasts before they came to rest low on her hips. “Maybe not time for everything, but surely a little starter?”

  
The soft moan escaped and she yielded to him. She made to turn in his arms but he kept her there pressed between his body and the kitchen sink. Deliberately, his hands slid down a bit further, stopping at the curve of her thighs. Shelagh felt the muscles there quiver in response. His hands hovered over the gentle curve of her thigh, building the anticipation.

  
She stood quite still for a long moment, poised on the edge of giving in. She wasn't sure where this was going. In the three months they’d been married, they had kept their intimacies confined to the bedroom. There was that one time, months ago, when they had very nearly forgotten themselves in his office, and that time in his car when they were courting, but reason had returned and long hours of anticipation were rewarded in the privacy of their bedroom.

  
His fingers skated over her thighs, small circles and larger ones, teasing her into awareness. What could happen here? Sex in the kitchen seemed so...impractical, especially when the bed was just yards away. But something radiated from him, his hands seemed to make a promise she didn't understand. He had touched her in her most private place when they made love, light, teasing touches that had readied her for his hardness. Now his fingers seem to promise a new pleasure. How could she yearn for something she didn't understand?

Suddenly, she wanted it all. She wanted to feel him cup her breasts in his hands, knead them to tight peaks. She wanted to feel her smooth naked skin against his as he moved between her legs, his hardness finding the very center of her. She wanted to him to fill her, to move inside her until she rocked against him towards her own fulfillment, but she had to keep her head. Even if they did...finish...before Timothy arrived home, they certainly wouldn't be able to restore themselves to respectability before the boy saw more than he would ever need to.

  
They would have to wait until tonight. Somehow, she would push this passion down until tonight, when they could love each other fully. She sighed. She knew how to suppress these feelings. For months she had stuffed down her growing desire for this man. She would keep herself busy with dinner, and homework, and every domestic chore she could think of until tonight when she could feel him inside her.

  
“Do you want me to stop?” his voice was dark and husky.

“There’s no time,” her own voice complained. “How could we possibly?”

  
A laugh escaped on a breath and he answered. “There’s more than one way, my love. Trust me.”

  
At his words, desire telegraphed through her body. Her head dropped back against his shoulder, her back arched against him. Trust him. _Oh, she had to have him!_  
She knew he wanted her, too. She thrilled to the hard length pressed against her lower back. Perhaps, if they moved quickly, they could make it to their room with just enough time to spare. It would be fast, she was already aroused and ready for him. She tried to turn to face him, take his mouth with hers, but he would not release her.

  
“Trust me.”

  
His palms curled against the fine navy wool of her skirt and tugged it up a few inches. He paused, then his long fingers skipped down the length of her thigh to capture the hem. He teased the fabric up one slow inch at a time. He lingered at the tops of her stockings, then she felt cool air on the smooth inches of her thigh as he tugged her skirt high about her hips. His fingers slid under the silky top edge of her stocking, curving his hand around her inner thigh.

  
A breath dragged in her lungs only to escape in a whoosh. Her bones seemed to melt, unable to support her. She raised her arm behind her to grip his shoulder and pressed her bottom against the tightness of his trousers. “Patrick,” she murmured, her voice low.

  
His fingers whispered along her inner thigh, halting at the fine cotton knickers. “Yes?” his breath brushed the nape of her neck, “Let me take you there.” She was uncertain exactly what he had in mind, but she would not deny him. He took her sensitive earlobe between his teeth again and sucked hard. Shelagh groaned. “Yes,” she pleaded.

  
Two fingers found their way under the thin elastic of her knickers and gently tangled in the soft curls already damp with desire. She pushed up on her toes, urging him to do more. “Please.”

  
He laughed and rubbed the tip of his forefinger along the seam of her labia, then two fingers pressed just a bit more. The soft flesh parted for him, beckoning the calloused pads of his fingertips to stroke her velvety folds. He caressed her there for long moments, finding where she needed his touch most.

  
Trust him. Yes, she trusted him. He knew her so well, his fingers, his mouth experts in her most sensitive places. From their first time, he had used them to build her desire, to ready her for their union. She felt the rush of blood in her ears and somehow wanted him more. A gasp as his thumb found her hot clitoris and answered her unspoken yearning. Rapid circles against the sensitive skin heightened the heat deep within her and she began to rock against him. It couldn't get better than this, she marveled, and yet it had to. To be this close to ecstasy was agony.

  
She begged on a breath, “Please, Patrick. Please. I need more.” She didn't have the words to tell him what she wanted, but when he slipped two fingers inside her she knew he understood what she needed. Her free hand clutched at the countertop, giving her leverage against him.

  
Her moans grew deeper as he stroked his long fingers in and out of her. For a moment she wanted to turn around and quickly take his erection deep inside her, feel her muscles squeezing around his shaft, but then every cell in her body was focused on the feel of his fingers within her.

  
She moaned a complaint when he pulled out of her, but his slicked fingers consoled her as he traced circles against her swollen folds, moving closer to the sensitive flesh that was his goal. When he touched it, she bucked against him, barely aware of his erection twitching in response. All thought fled as he held her to him with one hand and swirled and teased her most private place with the other. Her breath began to quicken and he moved his hand one last time. Two long fingers slid back inside her, crooked to find that one spot while his thumb pressed her throbbing clitoris. Around and around his thumb drove her forward, the soft moans growing louder as her breath quickened.

  
Her hand gripped his shoulder hard and then she exploded, his fingers caught in the intense spasms of her vaginal muscles. For a long moment, she could hear nothing for the blood rushing in her ears, the breath locked in her lungs. Shelagh slumped against him, air returning in heavy panting breaths, and she became aware of his body supporting her, his hand still resting against her. He pressed his nose against her cheeks, hot from the flush that flooded her face when she came.

  
“Alright, then?” he whispered.

  
She nodded, unsure of her voice. He kissed her ear gently, then withdrew his hand and pulled her skirt back down. His arm reached past her and her turned on the tap to rinse his hand. The gesture brought her down to earth. “Always the doctor,” she murmured, and she turned to press her face to his chest.

  
His arms wrapped around her. Tea was long forgotten, and they stood there holding each other until Timothy came home.


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps it was her years in the Order, but Shelagh still relied on her routines to help maintain her sense of calm.  As she prepared for bed each night, she followed the same steps:  remove her dress and hang it over the chair next to the bath, then take down her hair.  She’d brush her teeth, wash her face, and finally remove her slip and underclothes for the warmth of her favorite nightdress.  The ritual  gave her time to clear her head and prepare for her last prayers of the day.

Tonight, however, her thoughts didn’t find the calm they usually did.  She still felt wound up from her encounter with Patrick this afternoon.  For the last few hours, they had hovered near each other, the air between them thick.  Even Timothy noticed the undercurrent, and chided them both for being “quite awkward” over the shepard’s pie.

_ What on earth was that? _ Shelagh wondered.  Their physical relationship had flowered in the months since the wedding, but she had never expected something like that to happen   _ In the kitchen, for goodness sakes!  _  Shelagh rinsed her toothbrush and dropped it in the glass. As she closed the medicine chest, she was confronted by her own face.  Her eyes dropped away and she twisted open the jar of cold cream, working the goop into her skin.  

_ He did such things!   _ She hadn’t realized he could make her feel  _ that way  _ with simply his hands.  The heat that had simmered beneath the surface throughout the evening began to rise, and she thought of her husband waiting for her in their room.  He would already be in his pyjamas, relaxed and ready to resume their activities in a more conventional setting.

She wiped her face clean and finally met her reflection.  Trust.  She understood the power of that word.  Trust had given her the courage to call him that misty day last autumn and to leave the wrong life behind.  His heart was so honest it was easy to trust him.  She was beginning to see that it was just as important to trust herself.  Shelagh wrapped her blue silky robe about her and left the nightdress folded over the chair.  

As expected, Patrick lay stretched out on the bed, a battered paperback in his hands.  He glanced up and smiled as she walked around to his side of their bed.  His eyes drifted to her neckline and he swallowed tightly as they lingered on her exposed skin.  Without words, she lowered herself on the edge of the mattress and slipped off her eyeglasses.  He reached out a palm, then placed the glasses and his book on his side table.  

The ordinariness of the routine helped to settle her nerves.  She was going to do this.  Shelagh placed her hand on his knee and let her fingers stroke over the cotton covering his thigh.  She inched further up, only to be halted by his voice.  “Shelagh?”  

She glanced up and met his eyes.  She wasn’t entirely certain what she was doing, but she knew she had to do something.  Patrick had shown her ways to find pleasure she never had imagined.  It was time to do more than receive.

“Hmmm?’ she teased.  Her fingers spread over his thigh and she could feel him tense.

“My love.”  His voice was low and compelling.  She knew that she could shift closer to him and he would make her body thrill to his touch.  He would slide her robe from her skin and touch her, his hands and mouth stoking the fire she felt growing between her legs.  He would move above her, fit himself inside her and bring her to ecstasy.  

“Soon, Patrick.” She felt a thrill as his eyes darkened.  He twisted to turn off the lamp.  “No, wait--leave the light.  I want to see.”

Patrick turned back to her, humor in his eyes.  He tapped the bridge of his nose.  

He was right, of course.  Without her glasses, the world was a blur.  She giggled bashfully.  “Well, I  _ mostly _ want to see.”

Humor eased the tension between them.  He lay back against the pillows and outstretched his arms.  “Come here.”

Instead, she ran her fingertips up the length of his thigh, and was immediately rewarded by a twitch beneath the cotton.  “Shelagh,” Patrick growled.

Once--or possibly twice--she had touched him there during lovemaking, but never more than that.  Long ago, in her other life, some of her more forthcoming patients had hinted at ways they found to “manage” their husband’s needs, but until now she hadn’t fully understood the implications.  Those patients seemed to resort to that as a way of avoiding intercourse.  She never realized its potential for intimacy.  

“Soon, Patrick.  Trust me.”  She flattened her palm against his thigh and stroked up and down the length of it.  She could see him harden beneath his pyjamas, and found it more difficult to breathe.  Nervously, she licked her lips, then reached out to press her hand against the stiff flesh.

“God, Shelagh,” he moaned, the oath escaping unconsciously.  

He felt warm and vibrant through the thin cotton, and she felt a surge of courage.  His desire for her was obvious and made her feel bold.  All nervousness disappeared.  She brushed her palm along his length, her hand learning the feel of him.  Erect, his penis was longer than she expected, but she was not surprised by its girth.  Her insides clenched at the memory of its fullness within her.  

A breath shuddered in Patrick’s body,  triggering another rush of daring.  She slid her hands under his pyjama top and stroked over the smooth skin.   Deftly, she unbuttoned the shirt and spread it open to her gaze.  The skin was smooth there, and her hands slid over his chest.  She watched her fingertips and palms spread across his chest as if they could touch all of him at once.  She sucked in a sharp breath and pressed a kiss to his  abdomen. 

The scent of his skin drove her on and she brushed her opened mouth against his skin.  It felt so good against her lips, a thin layer of soft over the muscles of his abdomen.  She wanted more, and lightly traced her tongue along the surface.  

Her hair fell in a curtain in front of her face, and she could feel his fingers gently push it back behind her ears.  He wanted to see, and the thought gave her a sense of power.   She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but she was completely certain he liked what she was doing.  

A deep groan drew her attention and she regained a bit of control.  She raised her face to his and kissed him deeply.  “I love you,” she whispered.  She tugged his lower lip between her teeth and gently drew it between her lips to suck.  Her hand slid back down to his hard length and gave a squeeze.

“Oh!” he winced.  His erection softened immediately in her hand.

Stunned, Shelagh pulled away.  “Did I hurt you?” she whimpered in confusion. 

He lifted her limp hand away from him.  “Not hurt, precisely.   You just--” his breathed hissed.  “Blood flow.  That’s all.”  

She sat up, her shoulders slumped.  “Oh.”  She struggled to find words in her embarrassment.  “I’m so dreadfully sorry, Patrick.”

“Shelagh,” he reached out to cover her clenched hands.  His thumb stroked over her knuckles and her palm opened to him.  “It’s not over, we just need to be patient.  I’ll need a little more attention.”

Desire and fearless returned.  She slid her hands up his torso and pressed against him.  “I can be  _ very  _ patient, dearest,” she purred.  Their lips met in a slow kiss, velvety and wet.  Patrick’s hand slid under the gaping neckline of her silky robe and cupped her breast.  She pushed against him and gasped as he lightly pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  He laughed against her mouth.  “You’re not the only one who knows how to use their hands, sweetheart.”

Need built up inside her, but she pulled away.  She  _ would _ do this.  She wanted to show him how ready she was for more intimacy.  She bit her lip, then stood.  The robe dropped to the floor and she stood before him.  Patrick exhaled sharply, and she nearly lost her nerve.  She knew what she wanted to do, but here in the light, she grew shy.  He must have understood, for he switched off the bedside lamp.   “Little steps?” His voice was husky.

She drew a shaking breath and drew courage from the dimness.  Without speaking, she bent to kiss him, but pulled away as he reached for her.  “Patience, remember?” 

Her fingers slipped to the edge of his pyjama bottoms, teasing him, then slipped under the waistband. She lingered, then tugged at the drawstring and pulled the fabric lower, only exposing the tip of his hardness to the air.  His breathing deepened, telling her all she needed to know.  He lifted his hips and she inched the bottoms down the length of his legs until he was naked before her.

She was grateful for the dimness now.  Tonight was about touch.  In the dark she could gain the confidence she needed.  She moved above him, straddling him about his knees, and took his shaft in her hand.  Already recovered from its intermission, it felt hot and heavy as she wrapped her fingers around it.  

“Yes,” he breathed. “Like that.”

His skin move like silk over the hardness in her palm, and she felt her own excitement grow as his passion deepened.  Working on instinct, she moved slowly, learning the feel of the smooth rod, the pulsing vein, the tender tip.   She teased him, her thumb caressing the tip as she squeezed very gently along the shaft.  She wondered for a moment what it would feel like against her tongue, but knew she was too shy for that just yet.  Soon, she promised herself.  His hips began to move in rhythm with her strokes and she grew bolder and she slid her hand along his length more quickly.  

“Take me inside you, I need to be in you,” he groaned.  

She hesitated.  “Shelagh, please, I need to be in you,” he repeated, his breath rasping.

She moved up his body and kissed him again.  His hands went to her hips, then slid to grasp at her bottom.  She pulled away slightly and skimmed her taut nipples against his chest.  There was so much to feel in this position, his hot tongue against hers, his hands kneading her bottom, but she wanted more.  She shifted her weight to slide her wet folds over his penis and groaned at the feeling building deep inside her.  

“Take me in you Shelagh-- now, please.”  His urgency drove her and she guided him to her.   He filled her swiftly and bucked against her.  Using his shoulders to brace herself, she moved up and down, her body driving to fulfillment.

“I can’t--I can’t wait,” he panted, and his orgasm burst within her.  The throb of his penis within her set off her own climax and together they gasped out their ecstasy in long strokes.

She straightened and rested her hands on his chest as she slowed her movements.  Slowly, the roar of blood rushing in her ears calmed and her breathing returned to normal.  Reason returned and she awkwardly dismounted.  

The sound of his lighter clicked and a flame flickered in the room.  With a practiced hand, he lit a cigarette in the darkness and inhaled deeply before he passed the cigarette.

“Mmmm…” She pressed a kiss to his side, then took a shallow puff and handed it back.  

“Do you want one of your own ?” he asked.

“No, thank you.  I prefer to share yours.” 

He chuckled and kissed her damp forehead. “That prim voice is a bit at odds with the naked leg you’ve wrapped around mine, my love.”  

She giggled and rubbed her nose against him.  They lay together in silence, the cigarette passing between them.

“What a day we've had,” he mused.

She blushed in the darkness, then summoned the courage to whisper, “Trust me, Patrick. The day isn't over yet.”


End file.
